As Lovers Go
by the smell of autumn
Summary: This is easy as lovers go, so don't complicate it by hesitating. This is wonderful as loving goes. This is tailor-made. What's the sense in waiting?--A writing contest, winners inside! Thank you all for entering, they were all great!
1. Catch Me A Star

**Title: Catch Me A Star**

**Author: Pottedlilies**

**First Generation**

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**Disclaimer: Lily Evans, James Potter and all related characters belong to J. K. Rowling. This is written for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement is intended.**

_We were given: Two hands to hold, two legs to walk, two eyes to see, two ears to listen. But why only one heart? Because the other was given to someone else. For us to find._

**Catch Me A Star**

The stars were beginning to shine overhead through the beautiful colors of a spring sunset, and the world seemed content to pause in a moment of bliss despite the war that was raging outside the protective walls of the magical castle. Lily Evans sat peacefully under a tall beech tree on the shore of Hogwarts' sparkling lake, James Potter by her side, his strong arm keeping her shoulders warm in the light breeze the blew across the waves.

The redheaded witch sighed in contentment, wishing for this moment to last forever. They, as seventh years, would graduate soon, and Lily and James and their friends would have to go out and face the world in all its horror and wonder, so it was a blessing to be able to stop and savor the last few months of innocence before taking the next big step in the journey of life.

"You know," James said softly, looking fondly down at the slender girl in his arms. "This is my greatest wish come true."

Lily blushed, her cheeks matching the pink-tinged sky behind her, and causing her bright green eyes to stand out against her skin. "I still can't believe you chased me for so long, I was positive you were going to give up."

"Love never quits," he told her with a shrug. "And it makes it all the more worth it in the end."

"But it isn't the end," Lily added with a smile. "Maybe if life were a fairytale, you know, like Cinderella? That's the best and worst part about those stories – you get to watch people fight for their loves, but then the story ends as soon as they are happy together. I guess because to continue the story, you would know about all the problems along the way, and it doesn't make it seem quite as 'happily ever after'."

James nodded, absentmindedly running a hand through his already messy black hair. "But the problems make it real, because the bad times make the good so much better."

They sat together in comfortable silence for a while, just watching the stars appear more clearly, when James reverted to his original train of thought.

"Earlier, I was going to tell you – this is my greatest wish come true, but what about you? What can _I _do for _you_?"

Lily laughed lightly, the sound carried on the wind into the depths of the Forbidden Forest. "James, I could never have asked for anyone to love me the way you do. In a way, I think that's every girl's deepest desire, but many of them never see it come to be. You gave me that, and it's more than enough."

"But still," he continued, his smile lighting up the night. "I want to do something for you."

Lily thought for a moment, watching the sky, when a thought struck her. She grinned at James and pointed upwards. "Catch me a star, then, and I can make a wish on it whenever I find something else that I need, because for now, I don't need anything at all."

"I don't know if that's even possible, love, but for you, I'd try to catch the moon."

Lily's laughter was no longer light, it was loud and hysterical, bursting from her mouth and causing the young witch to gasp for air and hold her stomach tightly. "And where did you hear that? Please tell me Sirius wasn't trying to give you pick-up lines again!"

"Come on, Lils," he grinned, her laughter seeming to warm his heart. "I thought it was pretty good if you ask me."

"Well, it was better than some of the ones you used to use, back when you still thought I would fall for you like all the others."

James' grin turned into a grimace. "I did make a fool of myself sometimes, didn't I?"

"Sometimes?" she smirked. "But I'm glad you did. I think it was what made me realize you were serious."

"That I was willing to make myself look like an idiot to get your attention?" he confirmed, pulling her closer to him. Lily leaning into his side, breathing in his wonderfully familiar scent and resting her head on his chest. "I guess people do crazy things for love."

- - - - - - -

It was their final day at Hogwarts and Lily was wondering the grounds, just taking everything in for a final time. So many memories had been made here. As she walked by a ditch that led into the forest, she remembered getting trapped in their with Alice in their first year, and bonding while waiting to be rescued. She saw the Whomping Willow on a distant hill, and recalled the many times she had waited there for her boys to return safely after a full moon. She passed the Quidditch pitch and remembered more vividly than anything the day that she had finally said yes to James. She had told him that to prove his love – once and for all – he should lose his match, rather than win for her. And he had done it. She had run out to him after the Slytherin victory and kissed him in front of the entire student body – he had never counted that game as a loss.

She was about to head back to the castle to finish packing her things, when she saw a figure sprinting towards her. He had messy black hair and wire-rimmed glasses, and he seemed to be holding something behind his back.

"I did it, Lily! I finally did it!"

She had to laugh at his excitement. "Did what, James?"

"Caught your star." He pulled a large glass phial from behind him, and inside was a brilliant glowing sphere. "It's not a whole one, obviously, and Dumbledore helped me figure it out, but –"

Lily cut him off with a kiss. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down to her level, pressing her lips firmly to his. With his free arm, he encircled her waist, pulling her closer and crushing himself against her. It was moments like this that made Lily's heart want to leap out of her chest and take its true place inside his own.

"Thank you, James, I never thought –"

"That I'd be able to get it?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow and holding it out to her.

Lily took it and felt the gentle, almost heartbeat-like pulse that came from the tiny star. "No, no, no. I guess I just didn't expect you to try."

"I know it was just a cheesy pick-up line, Lils, but if you asked for the moon, I wouldn't stop until I got it for you."

A blush crept across her freckled cheeks as he hugged her tightly, he still had the effect a first love did – and Lily doubted he would ever cease to. "Thank you."

"I haven't even told you the best part, yet." His grin was that of a little child who was winning at his favorite game.

"Oh?" Lily asked, raising her eyebrows. "And what is that?"

"It burns only as long as I love you," he explained. "Dumbledore's idea, of course. I just wanted you to be sure of me."

The redhead could not contain a wide smile, absolutely beaming up at him. "I don't need any reassurance, James. I'll believe you no matter what, but I'll treasure this forever, just the same."

"And you'll be able to for forever, because nothing in the world could ever make me love you any less."

- - - - - - -

Years past, disaster struck, and Lily and James Potter were taken from the world, leaving their legacy behind through the loving heart of their black-haired, green-eyed son, who was destined to save the world. Almost two decades after they left Hogwarts, that son would stand before what was left of his house with one of his best friends by his side, looking – like so many others before him – at the destruction that an evil wizard had brought upon his early life. Harry Potter would look through wire-rimmed glasses at the place where his parents died, but there was one thing his Seeker's eyes would fail to see. Amid the ashes of the Potters' ruined home, there was a small star burning strong – symbolic of a life, and a love, that refused to fade away.


	2. Crushed

**Title: Crushed**

**Author: Wendy Brune**

**First Generation**

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**A/N: **A completely random I had while working on my other story, _Where There's Smoke_. ((If anyone is worrying about that one, which I doubt, I promise it will be posted within the next week. I'm dealing with exams and don't wont to publish it before it's just right!)) Comments are loved but not demanded, of course! For time reference, this is during Voldemort's first rise to power, before Harry Potter was born.

**6/20/2009 - **Special thanks to Rhea Silverkeys for leaving a review that helped fix a few grammatical typos. I really need to proofread better =)

**Crushed: A One Shot**

_Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter series. The only thing I own is the characters I have invented myself and the plot lines I have created._

He had always had a soft spot for Elle MacChester.

Well, not exactly. To use the term would be to imply that he possessed a heart, a muscle that even as a young boy he was noticeably devoid of. Perhaps it would be better to say that he had always admired her, though even that would be a stretch, for he was superior to everyone and looked up to no one.

_The night is dark, the wind fierce. Only a few meters away is a cottage, with all the lights dim. He hears the crunch of dead leaves beneath his feet, and wonders if they can hear it too. _

Lounging by the lake with her golden brown curls gleaming in the sunlight, the blue ribbons that tied up her trademark low pigtails streaming in the wind, this was the sharpest memory he had from Hogwarts, one of the few that remained. Her beauty was impassable; her wit and charm unmatchable. Teachers doted on her, first years looked up to her. Seemingly, she was the only girl even close to being worthy of the heir.

_He reaches the door; the time is now._

Such attributes almost made up for her biggest flaw. Almost.

She was a Ravenclaw. Which yes, was a decidedly better label than Gryffindor, but all the same, she was not Slytherin. Her house was a taint upon her name, the one thing that kept him from her for so long.

_A flash of white light, and the door is open. A man rushes into the room, a look of startled confusion on his face. Pausing, he realizes she has married. _

But he watched her. How could he not? Though he clearly cared for no one, he was still a male; he still had urges, desires, instincts.

Understandably, she attracted the hearts of almost all the boys she'd ever met. Though far stupider than he, even they were able to notice her graceful step, her shinning eyes, and her curvy figure. Like flies drawn to honey, they never gave up, despite her numerous rebuttals.

But then neither did she.

_No matter. A flash of green light, and the one called husband is dead. _

For every offer of courtship she received, she supplied the same answer.

No, thank you.

And he was surprised. Although he was able to see the inferiority of others, there were quite of few males that those beneath him had deemed as desirable. Stupid, the whole lot of them, but capable of making many silly girls swoon. Daniel Littlefield, Brant Hyatt, and the rest came and went, but still she rejected them.

Despite the Ravenclaw taint on her name, she had a spirit and a dignity he had seen unmatched in any other. She never swayed, but remained headstrong.

And he began to wonder.

_Suddenly, she runs into the room, confusion on her face. She sees him; confusion turns to fear. And she is every bit as beautiful as before. _

It was a warm summer day, near the end of the term in his seventh and final year when he decided to make his move. As in the memory ingrained in his head, she was laying out beside the lake, studying for finals.

Was he worried? Absolutely not. Despite her record, for she had never accepted one of her many suitors for so much as a date, he knew it would be different. He was different. After all, he was the most handsome man at Hogwarts, with his jet black hair and dark eyes; more than one silly girl had attempted to slip a love potion into his pumpkin juice. He knew how others saw him; poor, poor orphan Tom Riddle, with no parents, and yet oh so brave and intelligent. A reputation based on farce, of course, but despite her intelligence, even she had to be fooled by his act.

And he was heir to the greatest wizard who had ever lived. Of course, no one knew such a fact (_yet_), but still, his superiority oozed from him, an aura that influenced others. How could she be an exception?

He approached her, his mind clear of any frets.

How could she say no?

_She drops to her knees, tears in her eyes, either for the fallen man or her life, he knows not which. The time is now, it is unavoidable. Her name has shown up on a list of dissenters; she must be terminated. He raises his wand. _

"Why, hello there, Elle," he said, pretending to only just notice her. His voice rang out confidently, that of a man who knows his status.

She looked up from her book, a surprised smiled on her face. "Oh, hello, Tom."

"What are you reading? Can I help?" he asked, sitting crossed legged beside her, politeness simpering in his voice. He glanced at the title: _N.E.W.T Level Muggle Studies, Vol XXVI._

For a moment he was lost. A white hot rage burned through his head, and he was blinded by his fury. _Muggles. _His teeth clinched, his fists tightened. _Muggles._

And then it was over, and he was calm again. His momentary lapse had gone unnoticed; she was still smiling at him with those glorious bright green eyes. He paused to reconsider, doubting his judgment for the first time since he could remember.

"Oh, no, it's dreadfully boring," she replied to his question. "My mother insists I complete the course, however. Something about the more NEWTs the better." She flashed him another smile and returned to her book.

"He studied her for a moment, taking in her body. She was near perfect. With her on his arm, he would steal the desire of all his peers. Even though he knew he was the best, everyone would finally have to acknowledge it too. It was worth it."

"Say, Elle," he began, his voice rich with self-assurance. She looked up at him again, eyes searching his face. "Let me make you a better offer then. I have box-seat tickets for the Puddlemere United match the week after exams. Care to join me?" Even though he never formed an interest in Quidditch, he knew such a date was the perfect choice. He could flaunt his power with his box seats, the envy of all around him. She would be impressed.

He waited, giving her a cocky smile.

And then it happened.

"Oh. No, thank you."

_Yet he hesitates. This girl, this woman, kneeling in front of him. Could she not be of use…?_

Reflecting later, he was surprised to find that her rebuttal did not anger him so nearly much as he thought. Yes, it was a stupid mistake on her part, and she was an insolent girl. Yet somehow, her defiance only heightened his regard for her. That by will she could refuse a being so great as he, well, it had to mean something.

She was a challenge. A wild horse that needed to be tamed. To be broken.

It wasn't too long that he became absorbed in his quest for power, for earning what should have been bestowed upon him at birth. She faded into the back of his mind, and he did not see her again. Not until…

_A plan begins to formulate. What if…?_

She was headstrong, yes, and insolently refused him that long time ago beside the lake. But what if he fulfilled the vision he'd once had, of her on his arm? What couldn't she do for him? Perhaps her beauty and charm could capture the hearts of his enemies, leading them to change sides. She could be the perfect politician's wife. And the jealousy she would create…

" _I give you one option, Elle MacChester," he begins, secretly unsure just when he decided to follow his plan. "If you choose, you may die a horrible death by the hands of Lord Voldemort for your revolts." He hesitated. "Or, you may accept the most blessed honor you have ever had bestowed upon you in your life. You may become Lord Voldemort's wife, and live as his lady with the knowledge that very few are more powerful than you."_

He didn't need her to be victorious, of course. He could earn domination all on his own. But still, she could be a powerful weapon that might even slightly speed up the process.

"_I accept wholeheartly, my Lord," she weeps, looking up at him with feeble eyes. "I will do whatever you wish, so long as you spare my life. Please."_

And with her pathetic pleas, the spell was broken. This was not the Elle he once knew at Hogwarts. This was a weak and useless woman, clearly inferior to he. The one who was worthy of him would have still refused, instead of pleading in the face of death.

She was tamed.

"_Avada Kedavra!"_


	3. Healing in Rain

**Title: Healing in Rain**

**Author: bluestargem**

**First Generation**

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_Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything related to it. Just playing around._

_Written for Smile Life Away's Kissing in the Rain Challenge at HPFC :) I love that place, I really do. Check it out sometime ;) Enjoy._

**Healing in Rain**

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In the silence of night, under the blanket of darkness, she breaks.

It's the thin crumpled paper in her hand, heavy in the news it holds, weighed down by a blaming hand and pain-filled tears. It's the thin crumpled paper that rests so innocently beside her slumped figure, if not for the agonised drops that fall thick and fast from her eyes onto the lake's calm surface.

This is how he finds her; shaking, helpless, hopeless. This is how he finds her and this is how he remembers her in the months to come; crumpled like the piece of paper in her hand, devoid of hope, crushed by the harsh workings of a broken family.

The words quiver in all their devastating glory and in an instant, her trembling form is in his arms. He tries to say something, anything, to comfort her, but there are no words, no words to say between them, and in the night, under the swollen clouds, he breaks with her.

And as the clouds release their tears, and pour down around them in a hollow drum of nothingness, he cries with her.

---

The next morning, it's_ Lily Evans this _and _Lily Evans that_ and the entire school is buzzing with the news that Lily Evans' parents have died and her boyfriend and sister have abandoned her.

He stares at the empty seat opposite him and says nothing.

Two days later, she's a changed girl as she comes down to breakfast. There's no light in her eyes, no colour in her cheeks, no spring in her step and she looks at no-one as she seats herself and picks up her fork.

No-one, except him, sees the one silent tear that falls to her empty plate.

---

They say she doesn't smile anymore. They say she never laughs anymore, never giggles, never runs outside to twirl and dance anymore in that special Lily way whenever the rain patters down in curtains.

They also say she never cries anymore.

In a chilly half-morning months after that rainy night, he sits beside the still lake and stares unseeingly ahead.

She never comes here anymore either.

---

On a soft spring morning, he takes her hand.

She's hunched beside the window in the empty common room, watching the faintest pink light of dawn spread across the sky. He's back from a cold morning stroll near the lake and catches her, as he always does, dashing away tell-tale tears from her cheeks. And for a moment, it's all too much – her silence, her pain, her helpless state.

In a split second decision, he moves towards her and takes her hand from her lap. Wrapping his strong fingers around hers, he gently pulls her up from the chair. She does not resist.

Her fingers are cold, so cold, so fragile and slender in his calloused warm ones. He leads her outside, the cool breeze of dawn lifting their hair, dusting away the drops on her cheeks. Her emerald eyes seek out his hazel ones, more dull than curious – _why are we here_?

Seeing those flat ovals of green one more time – seeing their once-vibrant green so lifeless and bleak now - is unbearable. Firmly, he leads her to the very edge of the lake, heart thumping fast and hard breaths coming out in short puffs.

He tells her _this is where I first loved you _and _remember fifth year and the Giant Squid? _He tells her _this is where I looked for you that day to apologise _and there's the slightest crinkling around her eyes, as if she's about to smile. He sweeps an arm and gestures widely at the scene: the dewdrops glittering on the grass and the bright, clear sky and the glassy calm of the lake and the soft rays of morning sunrise staining the horizon and he whispers _and_ _this is where you cried that night, where I found you, where your world broke into mine and shattered it to pieces._

He tugs her slightly so that she's facing him. Raising their intertwined hands mid-air, level to his chest, he gazes into those green depths, and pours all his passion and feeling and desperation into that one stare, silently willing those emerald swirls to brighten again, to sparkle again, to laugh again.

"I love you, Lily Evans. Don't ever forget that."

At those words, the world seems to spin to a halt; for a breathtaking moment everything is still and hangs suspended in mid-air. The birds hush, the leaves fall still and there's one overwhelming, deafening, spectacular silence as the world waits for an answer.

Then a whooshing sound sweeps through the air and down comes the rain – a crystal shower of the most delicate raindrops that tinkle against the lake and sparkle against the rising sun.

And for the first time in months, she smiles. For the first time in months, she laughs. She lets go of his hand, and spreads her arms out wide, and the raindrops trickle down her hair and stroke her cheeks and wipe away the tears with cool, gentle fingers. She twirls and spins and dances under the rain like a flower bud stretching out its petals for the first time. And then she turns to him, and her eyes are sparkling green once more, like a fresh young spring leaf, sparkling in that beautiful way he loves so much, sparkling with mirth and joy and lovely, lovely _hope_.

He kisses her.

Under a blue, blue sky, in the soft brightness of dawn, as the rain comes sweeping down, sweeping away all pain and heartbreak and darkness, he feels her mouth on his. The raindrops sprinkle down between them and slip between their lips, cool and refreshing, and they both taste the sweetness of love, and the beauty of a fresh new day.

In the rain, he kisses her.

And as the sun bursts triumphantly over the horizon, gloriously spreading its rays across the sky in a rainbow arc of sparkling raindrops, their hands meet, and their drenched fingertips press against each other in a silent fusion of hope and love.


	4. Break Your Heart

**Title: Break Your Heart**

**Author: ThatClutzSarahh**

**Second Generation**

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The woman was nutty. I'll give her that. With wide, dreamy, blue eyes she looked up at me from her spot on the ground, at my feet. The sky above was a dark greenish color and the wind whipped violently through my blonde hair, making it hard to see her down there. She was shocked, though it was masked by her eccentric expression. Her small pink lips were pursed in a questioning stance and her eyes were ablaze with a dare, a dare that the devil in my ear was egging me on to finish, to do.

_What are you going to do about it?_

At my feet she made a move to stand, but her fragile pale legs didn't respond. And I, I just stood there. I didn't help her, I didn't move. The fractured thought of helping her crossed my mind, but that would open the door for conversation and then I'd have to respond. If I responded then we would talk and what would I say to her? If I were mean what would she do, would she expose my secret, would she expose me or would she cry? Merlin I hate it when women cry. I can't stand it. But if I were nice that would ask of more questions. Before I could even decide, I was halfway bent down to help her. Pausing for a brief second, my decision was made and I gathered her in my arms and hoisted her up.

"I can do it," she muttered mostly to herself. I didn't speak to her, but lifted her with ease from the Cliffside and carried into the small cabin in the woods. Severus had given me the place to hide in and I've been here for months on end. As far as I remembered Lovegood had been locked away in the family dungeons for quite some time. How did she manage to get out? How did she get here? And why Merlin, oh why the bloody hell me!

Setting her down on the small couch near the fireplace I glanced at her. Her silken blonde hair was matted with dirt and her pale face was smeared with sweat and other unmentionable things. I inwardly sighed, knowing now my shirt was most likely ruined. With a heavy groan I headed for the kitchen to get a cloth for the girl. I had so many questions but I refrained from asking them, silence seemed better at this moment than anything else.

I like order in my life. With order I can see exactly what is coming, what is next. With order I can lay down my day, my routine with ease. Lovegood dropping from the sky and almost falling off the cliff was anything but orderly. Now, instead of hiding away and trying to preserve what little self-preservation I have left, I'm stuck with Lovegood bleeding out all over my furniture. Yes, this is anything but orderly.

My first thought is to ask her what happened. But I choked back the impulse as I washed away the blood from her skin. Her eyes were full of fire, full of questions that she bit back as she watched me. My second thought came as I was nearly done. Why was I doing this? The question was pounding in my ears as I wiped away the last of the staining red and stood up. Her eyes showed such thanks that I turned away from her. We had not spoken since she had arrived and the un-bearing weight of silence was beginning to grow heavier and heavier until she spoke.

"Thank you," was the quiet whisper her voice replayed into the air. I nodded in response, heading away from her into the kitchen. Brushing the rag off in the kitchen I sighed and looked at the window that had created a glare, mirroring my image in the glass. Of all people it was Lovegood to arrive here, Loony Lovegood that is. That woman, however crazy she was, was the only woman that had ever caught my attention long enough to hold it.

It had been a sunny day in the spring sometime before all of this had begun. I myself had already pulled myself into a mess and thus I began to calculate every action I had done. My weak attempts at killing Dumbledore had brought my heart heavy and as I sat in the shade of a tree by the lake, I stared so blatantly at Longbottom as he collect so sample of something in the waters' edge. I hadn't even noticed Lovegood sitting above me in the tree when I had sat down, but when she suddenly came sprawling out into my lap when she had gracefully dove from the highest branch. However as graceful the dive, the landing was anything but.

I was angry at first. Angry that some loony woman came sprawling out into my lap from diving from the tree but that anger soon went away when she stood up and tucked blonde hair behind her ear.

"_I'm so sorry Draco," she muttered. I glowered at her._

"_What in Merlin's name did you think you were doing?"_

"_Oh I was-nothing," she corrected herself. I glared at her again and leaned back against the tree._

"_Go on then," I muttered to her after she stared at me. But she didn't move, she stood at my feet and stared._

"_What?" I snapped._

"_Something's troubling you," she said. That caught me off guard. No one knew, no one!_

"_What," I spluttered ungracefully._

"_You're eyes," she said, coming closer, "There are heavy circles underneath them and your skin is pale."_

"_I'm a pale person," I said coolly._

"_Sickly pale Draco?" she questioned, "Draco there is something wrong."_

"_Go away."_

There. There was a memory I couldn't get rid of. Even through all the darkness I had been in, I could not shake the memory of her falling from the tree onto my lap. The woman was nutty, as I've said. But what was worse was the way she just kept weaseling her way into my life all seemingly by accident. When I was suffering, there she was, when I was alone and feeling miserable-well misery sure as hell loves company doesn't? I couldn't find relief from her three months later, not even in my sleep for she invaded my precious dreams. My precious dreams revolved around the woman that wandered the halls with no shoes. Then, it happened-I was caught completely off guard by her.

"_Draco, don't you think we'll get in trouble?" she whispered as she followed me. I smirked._

"_Where's the fun without the risk?" I answered slipping behind a statue and into a secret passage way._

"_Draco, Harry will find us," she whispered, feeling the walls for direction. Her hand brushed mine and clasped around it. I was shocked._

"_Let's not talk about Harry," I ground out, "Now shh, we're almost there."_

_I led the way as we descended a flight of stairs and felt the crisp cool air._

"_Draco, this is a bad idea," she said uneasily. I rolled my eyes._

"_This is my idea of fun," I answered, tugging her along the castle walls in the dark, "Besides I think you'll like this."_

_Just as I said that, the night sky lit up with tiny glowing lights. Luna dropped my hand at the sight and gasped. I leaned against the wall as she walked between the tiny bugs that lit the night sky. A dreamy smile spread across her face._

"_So?"_

"_It's wonderful Draco! How did you know about this?"_

"_Being cunning has its' advantages you know," I smirked. Suddenly there was a change in her and I was uneasy. I'd seen that look in Pansy's eyes more than once. This was it and she was falling for me. I backed away, but the wall caught me._

"_Luna," I whispered as she closed the space between us. My heart was beating so loud I'm sure she heard it._

"_Draco," she said, "Don't tell me you haven't felt it too."_

"_Luna, please," I begged, "I have, but Luna you don't want to fall for me-"_

"_Why not?"_

"_I have to be honest Luna. I'm not the worst or the best but you need to know. I'm going to break your heart-"_

"_You wouldn't-"_

"_Yes Luna I would. Luna I might tear you apart, I'm not easy to please. I don't want to hurt you and I know I'm only going to break your heart-"_

"_Draco you never would-"_

"_Yes I would! Don't try to evade it! I've got a problem with misbehaving-"_

"_Then I'll take that chance."_

"_No Luna-" but I was cut off with her soft li-_

I groaned aloud and threw a glass against the wall, listening to it break. This was Karma no doubt. This, her falling here is Karma for me breaking her heart. I told her, I warned her! And yet she looked so shocked the night I fled from the castle. Her wide blue eyes had filled with tears then and she looked at me with the utmost pain I've ever seen. I told her though, I didn't deceive her like I had everyone else. She knew that I would hurt her. And now, months after I had failed to kill Dumbledore, here was that woman in my little house. Karma had a funny way of getting me.

She had been so fragile then, and now she was worse. How she had gotten here I would have never known. What happened to her was a question I refused to ask. I paced the kitchen, thinking about what I was going to do next. I had kept the secret from her in Hogwarts, and she thinks I'm the monster now. I want to convince her otherwise, but that would be foolish as well. I fiddled with the ring on my finger, the one that held my pensive. In there were all my Hogwarts memories that didn't belong to her. I hadn't let her memories go, but I could never figure out why.

I clung to her memories like a lifeline for months now. I clung to them and the hope that I'll be safe for a year as the war blew over. Maybe that's why she had landed here. Her memories where still in her mind and mine in my head so when she wanted somewhere safe she thought of me. How foolish.

Sighing, I headed back out into the living area, only to find the couch empty. Blinking, I rubbed my eyes and stared at the couch. She was there! She was there! I saw her! I fixed her! I stared at the blood on my shirt, trying to figure out if it was just an illusion or if she really had been there. The blood on my shirt was real, it was a real stain on the cloth. The stains on the couch were damp and I touched them, hoping that somehow she would reappear. Where did she go! How did she flee so quickly? I sat down where she had lay, not caring for the blood to stain my pants and hung my head in my hands. She had disappeared into thin air. Staring at the ground, there was a tiny slip of paper and (if I hadn't been so meticulous in cleaning) it would have looked like it had fallen out of my pocket. But it was there and it did not belong to me, so I picked it up and turned it over. A tiny crescent moon was stamped on the bloodstained outside. Luna.

_Draco,_ It read, _I know this letter will come as a shock, but I probably won't send it. Here I am, sitting in your family's dungeon thinking about how at one time I thought I'd be the Lady of this place. How ironic it is that I once wanted to be mistress to such a dark place! Oh, but please don't take offense, from what little outside I've seen I'm sure your home is quite beautiful. I'm trying to take up time sitting here. There's no real importance to this letter I suppose, just to tell you I think about you a lot. And I think about how you were right. I was foolish and in love Draco. You're a cruel man and I know that now. If I ever get out of here I'd probably slap you. But lets face it, how are my chances looking now? _

_I don't mean to speak of the negative-I think the dark is getting to me. What I'm trying to tell you is that, even though you broke my heart, I can't let go of your memories. I've tried many times to forget you, but being trapped in the dark here, you're memories are the only light I can see right now. Funny coming from me of all people, right? Truth is, you did break my heart like you said, but I just can't let go. You need my help Draco, and you keep me grounded so I don't just float away (or climb to high in a tree). You keep me grounded just as much as I lift you. I don't think I'll ever be able to let go._

_With that said, I find it easier to see if you can let go. That's why Draco, I wrote you this letter. You see, this letter isn't just a letter Draco; it's a magic spell. It's a memory spell, tailored specifically to me in someone's memory. Don't drop it just yet Draco for if you pick it up again, the letter will be blank. Just read to the end. As I was saying, you've touched it and once you let go, your memory of me will be completely gone. My memories of you though will remain intact. I think it's easier this way. You're going down a road that I don't want to be on and even in memory I can't be there. You'll make it through; I know you will. I just want you to let go of me Draco, let go. I know you've probably kept my memories in your head. I know I'm not in your ring pensive. If I am, then this will just be blank, but I have a feeling I'm not._

_So this is goodbye Draco. Take care and be careful from now on. And remember Draco, just because you've let go (by force) doesn't mean I will too. You'll be in my memory for forever. Goodbye._

_With a sorrowful Love,_

_Luna_


	5. If You Love Me, Just Let Me Know

**Title: If You Love Me, Just Let me Know**

**Author: never-ending nights with you**

**Second Generation**

* * *

She hates him.

She hates the way he doesn't notice her. He never does. She'll do up her hair (a first for her), put on some mascara, go out of her way to practice more, show up early for practice. He doesn't notice, though. Just makes a joke on how she's getting more dedicated, is going to be just like him one day.

She hates the way he talks about other girls to her, as if expecting her to give him advice. When he talks fondly of a Ravenclaw Sixth Years she's never even met, ponders asking her out, she clenches her fists beneath the table and hopes to the Heavens he doesn't notice her pained expression.

She hates him.

She hates the fact that they're best friends, always together, always talking. Hates the fact that he knows everything about her, she knows everything about him. He knows where she's ticklish, knows when she's upset, knows what subjects she hates. But he doesn't know she loves him. He never will, because she'll never tell him.

She hates the fact that he can read her mind, often finishing sentences for her. She hates that they seem like siblings. How he sees her as one, most likely. Hates how he'll assume things about her. She likes Roger Davies, according to him. Likes to nag her about it. But she doesn't. She wouldn't. It's so far from the truth.

She hates his stupid rule about Quidditch players not dating one another. It ruins the team, he thinks. But it doesn't. He doesn't know about George and Angelina's relationship, how it makes the team so much more connected. And she knows Harry and Ginny are pinning away (even if Harry is unknown to this fact). She hates how he assumes she is aware of this rule, would follow this rule. But she's never had a boyfriend, never had a chance to break it. She would love to. But only with him. She's only ever wanted him.

She hates him.

But, yet, she can't. She loves the way he _does_ notice her, when she isn't expecting him to. She loves how he confides in her about his dating mishaps, loves how he knows she'll somehow find them intriguing. She loves the fact that they're best friends, for it makes them closer, and is the best alternative to dating. She loves the fact that he can read her mind, and does so often. She loves the fact that she knows she just assumes that he would hate inner-team relationships. Because he doesn't. He's never said anything on the subject, because he's never had to. Angelina and George are hiding their relationship for a reason, not so they won't get in trouble with him. She loves the fact that he's happy she never had a boyfriend; they always go to Hogsmeade together (even if only as friends).

She hates the way she doesn't hate him. Not even close, not even a little bit, not even any at all.

She loves him.


	6. Birds

**Title: Birds**

**Author: brandonlov**

**Second Generation**

**

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**

**I do not own Harry Potter.**

**Written for the Love Song Challenge.**

Thanks go in order to my beta, blueskyshymoon-olgameisterfunk.

_(Edited December 22, 2009)_

"_All the stars up in the sky, and the leaves in the trees, and the broken bits that make you trip and the grassy bits in between; all that matters in the world is how much that I like you."_

"Birds" -Kate Nash

I watched as he closed the door behind him. He was gone. He left me. Again.

Surprisingly enough, my eyes were dry. It was as if my body was not in synch with my brain. My brain screamed for my eyes to tear, but my eyes only blinked, as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. And maybe, nothing had. I knew that we were over for a long time; he knew too.

The deafening click of the door closing only made me angry. How dare he? He attempted to appear angry when this entire ordeal was his fault! _He_ was the one who cheated on me. He was the one who dangled it in my face, seeing how far he could get away with before I snapped. If he expected me to just pretend like it never happened, he was delusional.

It made me grind my teeth at the memory, merely remembering how I found them, in my bed, no less. The nerve of them, thinking they could get away with it, too! Their sweaty faces were so surprised, almost to a comical degree. It was ludicrous how he had swept his hair out of his eyes, trying to say that stupid line. "It's not what it seems." Right, and I'm gullible enough to _believe_ you.

I stood in the middle of the living room, watching through the window the birds that circled the air. I sighed, aware of how my flat sounded so muted. The screams were drowned with the rain and wind, just like all the tears I had shed. But no more. No, I was done with him. He didn't deserve my train of thought.

I needed to get out of here; I couldn't stand the quiet anymore. Without thinking, I stepped out of my flat, climbing the stairs that led to _his_ flat. He should be home, he always was. I knocked once, but not loud enough to be heard. Maybe I shouldn't bother him, I always did. The door opened though, and I swallowed my excuses, looking into his silver eyes.

"He left."

It wasn't a question, it was a statement. I nodded, ducking under his arm to walk into his tastefully decorated flat. I distinctively heard as he locked the door, and the action made me feel uncharacteristically safe. In actuality, I didn't know why his presence always had a calming effect on me, but he did.

"He left with her." My voice sounded devoid of any emotion.

"I thought that was what you wanted."

"It is." But deep inside, I knew that I had wanted Ron to at least beg me to stay. For him to beg me for forgiveness. But he hadn't.

"Good."

I stared at him, trying to convey with my eyes the feelings that were dying to explode from my chest, stupid as they were. He walked from the door to the soft sofa, sitting down. I followed him, sitting close to him, wanting to feel the warmth of his body. His body didn't tense like I thought it would. He was always so tense, rigid.

I remembered when I first knocked on his door, not really knowing if he would even open it. Thinking he had known it was me he would only ignore it. But he hadn't. He swiftly pulled the door ajar, raising an eyebrow before stepping aside, signaling with his hand to come in.

The action had caused me to widen my eyes and step dazedly into, at the time, the unknown flat. He had closed the door behind me, as if knowing even then that I was planning on staying. And I did. Stay, I mean.

I don't remember why I had gone up the flight of stairs to his flat; my mind had been muddled, twirling with too many thoughts. But then he let me in. And just like that, I kept coming back.

Now, I could feel the heat from his body, warming me all the way to my toes. I cautiously placed my hand near his, my fingers itching to touch his. It was weird, but looking at his hands calmed me. They were pale, but lean and strong. Unfortunately he moved his hand, grabbing the remote control to turn the volume of the television down slightly; the action movie playing had a car crash scene going on.

"You're not happy." The statement startled me, causing me to jump slightly.

"What do you mean?"

I watched as his brow furrowed, his eyebrows coming together almost comically, distorting his otherwise handsome face. "You're frowning," he deadpanned.

I felt the muscles of my jaw relax as I exhaled a breath, wishing that it wasn't so awkward. Maybe this thing that we had, this friendship of sorts, only worked when I had been with Ron. Whatever it was, somehow it seemed off now.

I watched the pavement as the clouds cast shadows over people's feet. Every few minutes, the clouds would move, the sun shining brightly, before new clouds moved back in place. I reveled when the rays hit the window for a few seconds, warming my face and hands from the cold of the wind that had managed itself into the shop.

He was late. He was never late.

Maybe something happened at work, enabling him to stay longer. Maybe he was injured- a broken leg or arm. Perhaps, he just didn't want to come. Something stirred within me at the last thought, making me catch my breath.

I had been bothering him a lot, lately. It was not on purpose, though. He was just…there. I didn't want to be alone, left with my own mind to talk to, and he was always there.

"Sorry I'm late." I looked away from the window, watching as he sat across from me in the tiny table. "I had to run some errands."

I nodded my head, swallowing a smile and the lump that had formed in my throat. I took a sip of my tea, savoring the last drops of the sweet liquid. "It's fine," I said quietly.

His blond hair looked messy, windblown, but still perfect. My eyes perused his form, instantly aware that something was different. His eyes were shining, a sort of excitement showing through his storming grey eyes. The usual set of his serious face was gone, replaced with a slight but true smile, his cheeks faintly pink. I couldn't help but stare, my back pressed hard against the back of my chair.

"What?" He asked, still looking carefree.

I shook my head, trying to take all of him in. "You look…happy," I said, a smile of my own forming on my lips.

"Really?" He fiddled with the cup that I had ordered for him ten minutes ago, drinking the now cold tea. "I guess I am."

I raised my eyebrows, silently asking him what he meant. "Happy," he said simply.

His mood was contagious, making my muscles relax, my neck less stiff. He kept drinking the cold tea, his eyes looking at me, but not really. I could tell his mind was somewhere else, in some distant happy memory.

"Are you ready to order?" I asked him, watching as his eyes focused again, the blue outshining the grey for once.

I had asked him to accompany me for lunch a month ago, thinking he would decline. But he surprised me, and had nodded his head, sitting across from me in the tiny tea shop every day since.

"Let's walk," he said suddenly, standing and putting his coat on. I sat there, not understanding until he extended his hand to help me up. I took it, his warmth pouring straight into me, and missed it, when he let go to help put my coat on.

"Draco, what are you…?" But he grabbed my hand again, leading me out of the small tea shop onto the park across the street, feeling the cold air hit my face.

The pigeons flew around the trees, perching on the branches, spreading their wings at hearing the footsteps of the people below them. I watched as a person sitting in a bench threw them bread, the pigeons flying around a bit before landing close to her feet.

The wind picked up, my hair undulating in the air, further frizzing up. With the current of air came even more birds, as if the airstream made them magically appear. I took the band from my left wrist, dropping Draco's hand in the process, and made a bun, doing my best to pull in all of the unruly curls, amplifying my view.

I wished I was a bird. Their wings flapping, bringing them closer to the pompous clouds… it was a tantalizing thought. I would fly to the tallest building, or just soar with the wind, never stopping.

The smell of clean soap and fresh pine trees assaulted my senses, snapping me out of my self-induced trance, making my head swim in an unwanted way. I felt as he reached for my hand again, but maybe he wasn't aware of it; his eyes were searching, looking for something, someone.

His hand pulled me with a purpose as I followed by his side. His carefree nature was still with him, making the slight run pleasant. I was a bit out of shape, I had to admit.

But then he stopped. I bumped into his side, feeling him steady me with his other free hand. I followed his gaze, which was directed in front of us. I was met with sparkling green eyes and a smile. She was beautiful, and I instantly felt lightheaded.

The woman was walking towards us in a slow but steady manner, as if she didn't have a worry in the world. Her blond hair seemed to sparkle, even with the dark clouds hanging overhead. Her high cheekbones and pink lips stood out in her features, the dark eyelashes that highlighted her eyes visible from the several feet that still separated us.

It hit me then.

Draco had found someone. He had; that was the only possible reason of why he brought me out here. He wanted me to meet her. He wanted me to meet the person that made him happy.

_No_.

I tried to disentangle my hand from his, but he only held on tighter, pulling me closer to his side. I tried again, tempted to use my other hand, but then she was in front of us, not two feet away. She kept on smiling, and I'm sure I was glaring, but I didn't care.

"Hello, Caroline." I felt Draco's voice vibrate against the side that was pressed up against him.

The blond woman smiled wider, revealing straight white teeth. I almost gasped, wanting to get out of here. "Hello, Draco. And this must be Hermione."

My eyes widened, but I gave a weak smile, not wanting for Draco to end our friendship due to my incompetence to get along with this woman. "Hello," I said quietly, lifting my chin up.

"I have what you asked for, Draco," Caroline said, looking through her black designer bag. "Mind you, it was hard to find. But I know you, and I know you don't take no for an answer."

Caroline handed Draco a brown package, the rectangular object looking familiar. "Thank you."

"Yeah, well..." she trailed off, shifting her weight from foot to foot. I became conscious then, that I was still holding Draco's hand. That perhaps, she might be feeling awkward, seeing me holding on to her partner's hand. I started to blush, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks, a dead give away to my embarrassment. As discreetly as I could, I wiggled my fingers, hoping he was more focused on the package than on me. But alas, he stopped my attempts to escape, nodding his head at the blond woman.

"I guess I'll see you later," Caroline said, a wistful look in her eyes. I almost wanted to cry at that moment, not believing Draco would put me through this. But he didn't know. _He didn't._

"Yes and thank you. Again."

The woman turned, glancing at me, an inquisitive look replacing the wistful one. She waved, her scarf swaying against the wind.

"She seems nice," I managed to choke out, moving a strand of hair from my face. I dared a look at his face, thankful he was peering at the package and not at me.

"Let's go back to the tea shop." I nodded my head, careful not to look directly into his face.

The walk back was calm, but there was an undertone of contentment that radiated from Draco. His hand squeezed mine every few seconds, sending a whirlwind of emotions through my body. I could feel him looking down at me, but I didn't dare to peer back.

I was afraid.

I could feel my heart pounding, a painful rhythm that prevented me from getting a proper breath. I was not prepared to have someone affect me so quickly, so effortlessly. After Ron, I thought I was fine. _Okay_. But I had come to depend on his company, acting greedy and selfish, and now that was over. He had found someone, and even though he didn't say it: I knew. The way she had looked at me, a curious but resentful glance. I could understand though; I too would be bitter against the woman who kept my boyfriend away.

As he opened the door for me, I held back the tears that threatened to fall. This could be our last lunch together. Possibly the real reason that he was late was because he had to let Caroline know this would be the last time he was spending time with me.

_No._

We sat down in the same table that we sat at everyday at noon; me ordering the same chicken parmesan sandwich, while he ordered the same chicken salad. I chewed slowly, staring at the blue and black patterns of the wall, taking a sip of my tea occasionally.

It was snowing, the first snow of winter. It had come late, too late, in the eyes of the weather forecasters and people in general. It was mid December, Christmas nearing every second, the red and green of the festivities attacking every surface of the city. And with the first snow, it was official: only one more week until the holidays started.

The window displayed people walking with gigantic shopping bags, children holding onto their mothers, their faces full of joy. I glanced back at the patterns of the wall, feeling the silence increase with every second, even though I could hear the entire clamor from the people surrounding us.

Ever since last week, I couldn't look at Draco in the eye. I had thought he would terminate our lunches, but he didn't. He didn't mention Caroline, and I was glad. I wondered if he knew why I had been so distant.

"I have something for you." I looked up and was met with soft blue-gray orbs. I stared, but then noticed the same brown packaged that had invaded my thoughts for days. I gazed at it, but then he pushed it across the tiny table. "For you."

I made my hands take the package, feeling the rough paper under my fingers. I carefully lifted the tape, cautious not to damage or tear at the material. I knew what it was before I took it out: a book. I gasped, no words forming. No, he wouldn't.

"Draco…" I couldn't fight the smile that tugged at the corners of my mouth. "Is this?"

"Yes. I had Caroline find it."

In my hands, I held a first edition of _Pride and Prejudice_, my favorite novel. I had mentioned to Draco in passing how much I enjoyed the book, but didn't think he would remember. Ever.

I stared at him in wonder, but then realized what he had said. "You had your girlfriend find me a book?" I blurted, not thinking.

His brow furrowed, but then he chuckled, starting to laugh. He was laughing, and I blushed, knowing he was laughing at me. "Caroline is not my girlfriend."

"She's not? But I figured…" My cheeks flared even more.

"Is that why you have been quiet this entire week?" I couldn't answer, so I turned my head and looked at the pigeons fly, nodding my head. "You're unbelievable," he chuckled.

"Excuse me?"

"Why would I deliberately spend time with you if I was already taken? I'm not that kind of man, Hermione."

"I was just…stupid." I shook my head, barely comprehending what he just said.

"Look at me," he whispered. I kept watching the pigeons fly about, wishing I could trade places with one of them. I would fly away from this situation, this mess. "Hermione, look at me please."

I heard the urgency in his voice, and against my better judgement, I did. Look at him. The blue was gone, mercurial silver shining brightly. "It's okay, Hermione. I feel the same way."

My mind whirled, not believing what came out of his mouth. No, he couldn't feel the same way. He couldn't. My heart bursts with excitement and fear whenever I see him. I feel like I can't breathe when he is near. My palms sweat, my stomach fills with butterflies. _He couldn't_.

I took a deep breath, a slight smile on my lips. "It's okay, Hermione."

And then he took my hand, squeezing it, a thousand emotions with that one gesture; my heart fluttering, my insides squirming. "Okay, Draco. I believe you."

"Good." He smiled a genuine smile, one that reached his eyes, portraying feelings that I had missed all along.

But I couldn't help but turn back to the window and see the pigeons soar off, their wings flapping, flying in a V formation. It was time for change, and they had taken action.

"Merry Christmas, Hermione."

I smiled, squeezing his hand back, trying to convey my entire soul with that one motion. "Merry Christmas, Draco."


	7. Property Tax

**Title: Property Tax**

**Author: Nanaho-Hime**

**Third Generation**

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For The As Lover's Go Contest

Disclaimer: I own nothing

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_Summary: Scopius Malfoy has a problem with Rose wearing other men's clothes. ImnotjealoushutupAl. _

_****_

He'll never tell her for the sake of his dignity (because she's already completely and effectively diminished the majority of it), but he absolutely hates it when she wears her male cousins clothes. She wears James's Quidditch jerseys, she wears Al's pajama bottoms, she wears Fred's ridiculous looking sweaters, she wear's Hugo's ties, and even Louis's shoes and he _hates _it. She's a fashion disaster and her logic is she likes wearing her _male _relatives' clothes because it reminds her of them, it comforts her.

And maybe it makes sense, but when Scorpius sees her in one of James's oversized shirts he feels an ugly, roaring…something in his chest. (Al insists its jealousy but Scorpius doesn't put any stock in the words of the most socially and romantically retarded person to ever attend Hogwarts).

And, after all, why on earth would he be jealous of her _cousins_. (The Weasleys don't seem too into incest but he can't be too sure, they're _Weasleys _and they are a bit _strange._) And, puh-lease, it's _Weasley_, skinny, freckly, bushy haired tomboy Weasley, with the most beautiful pair of mind blowing blue eyes he's ever seen in his life. Not that those matter. _At all_.

"I don't see what the problem is," Rose pulls the fuzz off of Fred's ridiculously overly large orange sweater. It clashes horribly with her hair and she looks ridiculous and he wants to break Fred's arms for purely unrelated reasons, of course.

"It's just strange," he argues gritting his teeth, and ignoring the loud roaring thing in his chest, "I mean it's like you're advertising 'property of ' insert male here."

Rose frowns because that's such a Scorpius thing to say, and it irritates her because he acts like she's something to be _owned_.

"I'm no one's property," she mutters tersely, her blue eyes warning him to shut his mouth, but that thing is roaring in his chest and he sees red every time he sees her in other guys' clothes (and Al says it's called the green monster and _imnotjealousshutupAl_).

"Then wear your own clothes," and it's such a stupid and lame come back.

"Girl's wear their brothers' clothes all the time," Rose huffs because he's so _stupid_ and, lately, he's been such a moody arse, and, damn it, she should be the only one with PMS in this friendship/rivalry thing.

"They wear their boyfriends' clothes too," Scorpius counters and he bites the inside of his cheek, and tries to calm the roaring thing in his chest, and tells the Al voice in his head to _shutthehellup_.

But now Rose is looking at him strangely, and damn it was he that obvious?

"Would it make you feel better if I wore your clothes too Scorp?"

Scorpius scoffs, because he's dancing on glass now and it might just break, and then the world will explode, because she's _Weasley,_ _Rose Weasley_, "I don't care what you do."

She rolls her eyes but she's smiling softly, and the next day she raids his closet, and walks around in his clothes all over Hogwarts and the roaring thing in his chest goes away.

"Scorpius?"

She's wearing one of his dress shirts, and he feels very warm, because she's **his**.

(take that JamesPotter FredWeasley HugoWeasley LouisWeasley _imnotjealousshutupAl)_


	8. Still We Are Navigating by the Stars

****

Title: Still We Are Navigating by the Stars

Author: s i l v e r a u r o r a

Third Generation

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**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter. I merely screw with the characters for no monetary gain whatsoever.

**A/N: **Kind of AU and very out there, but bear with me. Inspired by _The Time Traveller's Wife_, which I just finished reading. It was amazing.

Written as a combined response to a couple of challenges on the HPFFC forum, but mostly to the **Random Prompts Challenge **of Corinne Marie.

**Dedicated: **to everyone who's fallen in love with the wrong person and kept on loving them regardless.

---

He first appears to her at the bottom of her parents' garden when she's six. She is sitting on the bank of the small stream when a battered and bruised blonde-haired teenage boy staggers over the crest of the small hill and collapses a short distance away from her at the edge of the water.

"Mummy!" she shouts in shock and considerable apprehension, but he raises his head feebly.

"Please don't," he begs weakly. "They can't know."

She gives him an odd look and edges slowly away. A familiar-unfamiliar mark writhes on his forearm and there's blood on his knuckles.

"Who are you?"

"My name's Draco," he informs her wearily, struggling up into a sitting position and with a slight hissing noise of pain points his wand at the blood on his legs and mutters a spell. She watches, entranced, as the blood recedes and his skin smoothes over gracefully. "Who're you?" he asks, snapping her from her fascination.

"I'm not supposed to talk to strangers," she tells him firmly, her long red hair swinging behind her in the neat plait her mother had tied it in that morning.

"No, I don't suppose you are."

They sit in silence for several moments, the broken teenager and curious child.

"My name's Roxanne," she caves and informs him eventually, her hands twisting in her t-shirt. "Where are you from?"

"I'm from the past," he tells her, and she looks into his grey eyes and reads the truth and moves closer.

"You're a time-traveller?" she inquires breathlessly, dropping down onto her knees and gazing up with enrapturement. "That's so cool."

He laughs shortly and coldly once, with little amusement. "It's not exactly by choice. Vol- someone's experimenting with me. To see if it can be done. Looks like it can."

He picks a flower from the ground, a small purple crocus.

"Are you going?" she asks in disappoint, her small hand reaching out and brushing his knuckles _ohso_gently. "You don't have to, you know. I could bring you to my house and mummy can give you supper …"

He pats her once awkwardly on the top of the head and smiles harshly, his lips pulling up thinly on one side.

"I doubt I'd be very welcome in your house, little Weasel."

She glares at this and is about to tell him exactly how much she cares whether he's welcome or not when she hears Fred calling her name from the house and his outline has started to blur and something has twisted in his expression.

"Goodbye, Roxanne," he says more gently than she expected, and she waves once before he vanishes entirely and Fred is bowling her over and over and shaking her because he gets entirely too impatient when she doesn't respond quickly.

"Earth to Roxy," he laughs, shoving her in a brotherly way that has her responding with a swift punch to the gut and soon they're tussling like a pair of puppies.

"So what were you doing out here?" Fred asks breathlessly once they've exhausted themselves and are lying on their backs in the grass, gazing up at the blue-and-white spring sky.

She briefly considers telling him about Draco but his tired grey eyes swim behind her eyelids and she thinks of all the blood and his quiet plea not to tell anyone and besides she rather enjoys having a secret that nobody else knows because she shares everything with Fred and it's nice to have something all to herself.

"Fred! Roxanne! Dinner time!" their mother calls from the house, and they're sprinting up to the house, shoving at each other, arriving inside in a whirlwind of energy and hunger and lingering secrets.

--

He comes back many times over the next few years. Sometimes she's down at the creek and he just drops out of thin air. It makes her jump the first few times but then she's used to it. She's taken to hiding food down there, beneath a rock, just in case.

She gives it to him because he's sarcastic and rude and can be quite cruel but he always says sorry when he looks at her because it seems sometimes he forgets that it's _her _and not another person entirely, maybe a member of her family he knows in his own time that he doesn't get along with.

"What's happening in your time now?" she asks quietly one late summer's day when she's around eleven and he's a month or so older than the first time they met.

"Death. Destruction. The usual."

She sighs and her head drops easily onto his upper arm.

"Dad never tells me anything about the war."

He snaps his head round to gaze at her, examining the way her auburn eyebrows tilt upwards with amusement at having finally caused him to react a little more dramatically than usual above her blue eyes and her little rosebud mouth.

"He's right not to. The only thing that gets me through every day is knowing that one day something's going to go right or else you wouldn't be here."

She laughs and snuggles closer and he's suddenly struck by the appalling thought that he's _friends _with this impish little child and she's known him for five years even though he's only known her for four weeks – and it doesn't bother him. She's a little breath of fresh air in a world so utterly devoid of colour he forgets that there's a difference between living and being alive sometimes.

"I think you do the right thing in the end," she muses absently, tearing grass up with her delicate fingers. "I mean, whenever Dad or Uncle Ron or Uncle Harry mention you it sounds like they want to punch you senseless but they haven't got around to doing it yet so you must have done something right."

He laughs, quite unable to help himself, and only notices that he's blurring as she sighs in disappointment.

"See you soon," she says, and her lips press against his wavering cheek before he's gone entirely and she's left staring at empty space.

--

She doesn't see him for two years. She waits forlornly down by the little stream whenever she's home, and when she's at Hogwarts she can't quite help worrying that he's all alone and hurt and she's not there to help him.

The first evening of summer she races down to the bottom of the garden, abandoning her school paraphernalia in the house. He doesn't come. She goes back up to the house when it's getting dark and she's given up.

Miserably she gets into her pyjamas and goes to bed, deftly plaiting her long red hair. She's considered cutting it off for a long time now, but every time she gets close to doing so memories of him winding his fingers in the curly ends and tugging gently when she's asking too many questions flood back and she almost starts crying before realising that it's stupid to be upset about someone who's old and married in her time anyway.

She's woken in the middle of the night by the soft rattling of stones against her window. She pads across the room on silent feet and he's down there, swaying back and forth uncertainly.

She holds a finger to her lips and hurries downstairs, pausing to grab a spare slice of pumpkin pie off the kitchen counter and carrying out with careful hands to him.

He's staring blankly off into middle distance, and there is such horror in his expression that she doesn't even bother trying to speak to him. She just reaches out and takes his hand and leads him silently down to their little spot down by the creek.

She presses the pumpkin pie on him and resists the urge to beat all the truth out of him until he's forced down the pie and leant back against the tree trunk with bone-weary exhaustion.

Her fingers lingeringly trace a long cut down the side of his face.

"What happened?" she asks softly, and his eyes flick to burn into hers.

"How long is it since I last visited?" he inquires tiredly, passing a hand over his face. "You have boo- a figure."

She smothers a laugh. "I'll forgive you for being tactless. You look like you've been half-killed."

His eyes run over her in a way that make her feel all hot and cold at the same time and then he drops his head into his hands, moaning so softly her heart breaks for him right then and there.

She kneels down next to him and her arms go around his neck, pulling him in until his head is buried in the crook of his neck and these tears are running down his cheeks and soaking into the collar of her over-sized t-shirt until he's shuddering and gasping and her hands are running gently through his hair, humming a lullaby to soothe him, and it's quite ironic because she's both three and twenty-three years younger than him and she shouldn't be feeling like the older one.

"I did something terrible," he tells her. "At least, I was supposed to."

His hands are clutching at her sleeves now, his face still hidden in her shoulder, half-covered by her hair which has come loose during the night.

"Tell me," she whispers, and he takes a shuddering breath.

"I was meant to kill a man and I just couldn't. I failed. Vold- I was punished. He sent me here. At least, he sent me away in time. He likes it as a punishment because I always come back thoroughly miserable and confused."

Roxanne has managed to put two and two together from fragments of conversation and books written and half-given snippets of information.

"He can't read your mind? I thought he was a legilimens."

Draco laughs once, harshly, and draws away from her, dropping his head onto his knees, tangled blonde hair falling into his face.

"I keep you wrapped up so deep he'll never find you."

She smiles at this, and curls up against his side. His arm falls quite naturally around her shoulders and they both take a deep breath and gaze up at the stars.

"It's weird to think I'm wandering around right at the moment with all of this behind me," he announces inattentively. "I wonder what I'm like."

She chuckles and the heave of her chest draws his attention and he realises all over again that she's changed since the two days and two years since he last saw her.

"I'll see you in September," she informs him. "Your son will be in the same year as Al and Rose."

He can't decide which one to ask about first. "My son?"

"Yeah," she replies, her fingers knotting into his quite naturally. "Scorpius. It's the most retarded name I ever heard. Well, apart from Al's."

"Al isn't that bad a name," he replies, his thumb tracing circles on her pale skin.

She raises an eyebrow and glances at his face. "Short for Albus Severus."

"Ouch," Draco says. "Poor kid. I'll have to name mine Scorpius now just so he's not the only loser wandering round with such a stupid name."

Roxanne laughs and Draco takes a moment to question and locate and label the bubbly feeling that rises in him when she laughs like that and then battles it down just as quickly because if love is the answer then he needs to rephrase the question, and quickly.

"Shit, Roxanne, what am I doing?" he asks suddenly, the comforting weight of his arm disappearing from around her shoulder and hurriedly tucked back into his chest.

"You're leaving," she tells him forlornly, tracing the blurry outline of his shoulder. "I'll see you again soon."

It sounds more wistful than expectant and as he fades out of view he can't help but wonder what she'll be like when he next sees her.

--

He catches sight of her across the station, through the steam. She's laughing with a red-headed boy he assumes is either brother or cousin and his eyes run over her long, loose hair that she was thinking about having cut during the summer and is pleased to see that she's decided to keep it long.

Astoria is hugging Scorpius tightly and the boy is muttering in embarrassment. The steam parts briefly as Draco hangs back from this little family scene and he catches sight of two black-haired boys, a red-haired little girl and, finally, the scar lingering in between black hair and green eyes. Draco nods once, and Harry nods back. Draco's gaze travels to the younger boy with the same black hair and green eyes as his father, and Roxanne's words float back to him.

_It's the most retarded name I ever heard. Well, apart from Al's._

He suppresses the smile and turns around to find _her _there, staring at him and he's desperately trying to remember how much information it's okay to impart since, for her, a whole lot of it hasn't happened yet and he quite possibly hasn't made those many mistakes already.

"Hello," she says guardedly, her big blue eyes all the while searching his, seeking some resemblance to the boy she knows in the garden. "When will you be back?"

Astoria is busy waving to Scorpius aboard the train, so Draco has time to press a list of dates into her small hand, his skin sparking with the electric touch that he's missed so much and is just _wrong _because she's far too young in this time.

"I'll be waiting," she promises, tucking the list into her pocket and looking thoroughly undecided about hugging him.

"Forgive me," he makes her promise. "Forgive me for all the idiotic things I'm going to do."

Her lips curl upwards in that irresistible smile and he fights back the onslaught of memories.

"This is beyond bizarre," she informs him with a giggle, and then she disappears into the steam and he doesn't see her before he and Astoria leave the station.

--

Roxanne studies the list of dates and broods silently in the corner of the compartment, ignoring James' repeated attempts to draw her into the conversation.

"What is that, Roxy?" Fred asks after a short while, and she quickly crumples the paper up and shoves it into her pocket.

"Mind your own business," she orders him rudely, tucking her legs up under herself.

"Wow. Temper, temper," James comments, and as his idiotic friends from Gryffindor laugh along with him Roxanne rises and stalks out of the compartment with as much dignity as she can muster.

Seeing Draco was surreal. She muses on this as she wanders back and forth in the corridor, no particular destination appealing to her. He's changed very much, and she can't imagine what it is he could be apologising for. But then it's all in her future and his past and the paradoxes make her brain hurt.

She resolves to attempt to consider her Draco as a different person from the real Draco. It's hard because there's something lingering in the eyes of the Draco at the station that makes all her feelings for her Draco get mixed up inside her even further.

With a sigh, she pulls out the list of dates again. There are many for the Christmas holidays, but _ohso_few in the two years following.

She slips back into the compartment full of rowdy boys with some of the fight back in her. She swears amiably at James and shoves George Thomas onto the floor to get her seat back, settling comfortably down for the remainder of the journey.

--

She brings an extra jumper that she's nicked off her dad when she goes down to wait for the first time in the Christmas holidays. There's four inches of snow on the ground and she's sure he'll only appear in his usual jeans and shirt.

She's right. He coalesces directly in the stream this time, swearing as the freezing water sloshes in over the tops of his trainers.

"I hate winter," he complains as he pulls the jumper over his head. Roxanne, trussed up in several jumpers as well as a coat, hat, scarf and gloves, nods in agreement.

"I can't wait for spring."

They huddle together under the tree, arms around each other for warmth.

"I saw you at the station," she tells him, her head nestled comfortably onto his shoulder. "You said you needed me to forgive you for some stupid things you're going to do."

He chuckles, his cold face pressed into her hat so his voice comes out a little muffled.

"I dread to think what I meant."

"This is all so weird," she confesses, shivering a little. "I don't know how to think of you or how any of this works."

He shrugs and then winces as a cold wind knifes into his back.

"Me neither. I'm going to settle for enjoying it."

She laughs and agrees and then hefts a snowball at him. He swears at her and chucks one back and a war ensues that's of a far more enjoyable nature than the one he's fighting in back in his time.

He disappears just as her snowball would have smacked him directly in the face and she yells that he's cheating at empty air before barrelling back up into the house and almost jumping into the fire in her desperation to be warm.

"Roxy, where have you _been_?" her father asks in astonishment as she sheds layers like a snake shedding skins. "You're soaked!"

Her hair cascades down in loose, damp curls around her face and elbows as she grins.

"Outside. The snow's fantastic."

He rolls his eyes. "You spend far too much time hidden away outside."

She just grins and stretches out in front of the fire like a dog, letting warmth seep back into her bones with a sigh of bliss.

She can't help her thoughts wandering to Draco.

--

The next time he appears, mercifully not in the stream this time, she grabs his cold hand and drags him, protesting, up the garden and into the house.

"Are you crazy?" he hisses at her as she abandons her coat and scarf on the stairpost and leads him upstairs.

"Relax, freakshow. My parents are out at Uncle Bill's with Fred. I told them I wasn't feeling well."

With a sigh of contentment he sinks back onto her bed and gazes around himself with delight. He loves the fact that while he's spent two or three months suffering under the every whim of a madman she's been growing up and evolving and changing.

"Hey," he says suddenly, rising up off the bed and causing her to turn around from where she's hanging up her damp cardigan in surprise. "That's me!"

He plucks a photo out of the corner of her mirror and she blushes.

"I miss you a lot," she admits quietly. "You go away for a long time sometimes."

Without thinking he wraps her into a hug, her head nestling under his chin.

"I'm sorry. You know I can't help it."

She draws back and half-grins, then tackles him onto the bed and snuggles into his embrace.

"I wish you could stay here forever," she murmurs as his arms go around her unthinkingly, his fingers twisting in the ends of her hair. "Then I could introduce you to people. All my friends think there's something wrong with me because I'm not interested in any of the boys at school."

He can see the direction this conversation is going and with some of his infamous Slytherin cunning steers the topic back around in a safe direction.

"So who wins in the end? Potter or the psychopath who I can't entirely hate because he brought me to you?" he asks, and she smacks him half-heartedly.

"I'm not telling. It would probably mess up the space-time continuum or something."

He laughs loudly. "Yeah. Because you know so much about time travel and metaphysics."

"Shut up," she commands fierily, and he takes a hint and stifles his chuckles.

"So you won't tell? Not even if I put on my best puppy-dog face?"

She giggles and her hand caresses the side of his neck gently.

"I don't understand you. Everyone I know paints this picture of you as a horrid, selfish, egotistical Slytherin idiot who was up to his eyeballs in the Dark Arts."

He sighs, pulling her a little closer. "I was. I mean, I am. I'm a Malfoy, I don't really have a huge choice."

"Why can't you just be nice to people?" she asks, and he can't help but smile for her naïveté.

"It's not that easy in my time," he replies, and she blinks.

"Well, it sounds like you have a personality transplant whenever you come to see me. I don't get it."

"It's weird considering technically you don't even exist when I'm this age – but you're the only person I can just be me around. I hate admitting it, but I do put up a dreadful front."

She eyes him disbelievingly and he's just about to add something further when his vision starts blurring.

"Shit," he says crossly as he disappears, and she laughs.

When her parents arrive home she's asleep on her bed with damp hair strewn across her pillow and the ghost of a smile lingering on her face.

--

He doesn't come back and she misses him for a year, maybe a little longer. She sometimes catches glimpses of him through the trees but he's always gone just too quickly. She only just about has time to shout his name.

And then one sunny summer's evening she's sixteen and in a bad mood because she's still getting stick at school and from her family about her total disinterest in boys and she's bored of playing the tomboy to deflect comments about her sexual persuasion because it's easier that way.

Then he lands in the water with a splash and with a cry of joy she rushes to him and drags him out. Her joy is replaced with horror when she rolls him onto his back and finds his face marked with hex wounds and, with trembling fingers, she peels his shirt back to find his chest rent with bloody wounds.

He breathes steadily in and out, unconscious, as she swears and wishes she was old enough to do magic because it's less than a year before she can and then she slaps him hard on the cheek.

"Ouch!" he protests weakly as he comes to, clutching his cheek, and she exhales loudly in relief before grabbing at the lapels of his shirt.

"Don't you ever, _ever _scare me like that again!"

"You grew," he accuses as he fends her off and pulls his wand out painfully and performs the spells he's getting good at now.

"It's been months on my end," she reminds him, sitting back on her heels and watching as the gashes zip themselves up. "I'm already sixteen,"

"Well it's been weeks on mine, for a change," he tells her. "I think the end is close."

She studies him for a brief moment, his shirt still hanging open and exposing his pale chest and she sighs mightily.

"I'm not going to see you again, am I?" she murmurs desolately, holding out the now-extremely crumpled piece of paper with the list of dates on and handing it to him. He reads the date that must be today's, the last one, and sighs.

"Not like this."

"Please," she whispers tremblingly, her eyes wide and innocent and desperate. "Please make it count."

And he figures what the hell, he's eternally damned anyway, and so he kisses her because she's the same age and twenty-three years younger and the complications fade away as her clothes come off, and he's a seventeen-year-old boy so his moral compass isn't exactly accurate and his clothes join hers soon afterwards.

And she's crying with some strange combination of anticipated loss and joy and love and he can't help crying just a little himself because feeling like this with her is perfection as their lips meld and his brain speedily rewinds through the afternoons of sitting with her and discussing their lives and their hopes and aspirations and what he's going to do when this –that– bloody war is over.

And when they're finished and they collapse naked onto the soft grass his hands wander lazily up her bare back and tangle in her hair.

"I love you," he tells her sadly, and he feels her lips curve up against the skin on his chest.

"I know," she replies gently, her fingers tracing the pattern of scars on his shoulder. "I wish it didn't have to be like this."

"I want you to be happy," he orders firmly. "I want you to meet a boy who's the right age in the right time and I want you to marry him and never regret any of it."

She laughs. "And I want you to go find Astoria and marry her and name your son Scorpius so Al doesn't feel so lonely and so that Rose has someone to rebel with."

"Don't you need someone to rebel with?" he asks in amusement, the idea of his son and the Weasel's daughter flashing round inside his head with considerable hilarity.

"Stupid," she says, tapping his nose. "I've always had you. I'd be strung up and stoned to death if they found out I was in love with the original Malfoy git. No offence."

He chuckles. "None taken. That picked up from Ron?"

She nods and grins. "No surprises there, I assume?"

"None at all," he replies with laughter shaking his voice.

"I'll miss you," she confides softly, finally disentangling herself from him and going round picking her clothes up. He mimics her and dresses himself hurriedly, drawing her in for another searing kiss.

"We made it count," he reminds her, and she kisses him again before resting her forehead against his.

"Yeah. We did."

"Just make sure you don't get pregnant or anything," he commands with a laugh. "I can't even imagine the confusion that would cause."

She's still laughing as his outline begins to blur; even though there are tears running down her cheeks she's still laughing and he fixes that memory firmly in his head before the sunlit garden disappears entirely from in front of him, and even as Voldemort leans over him his head is absolutely full of Roxanne and nothing else at all.

--

And he sees her at the station in September and she smiles forlornly at him from across the platform, her eyes big in her pale face and he thinks accusingly that she's far too thin now. He's even about to go over and tell her off when Astoria links her arm through his and he has to lose her all over again as he turns to his wife who he loves but just doesn't love like he loved and loves Roxanne.

"Do you want some coffee?" she asks him as students rush around them, headed for the train. He smiles at the thought of the muggle beverage they're both so fond of and nods. She disappears into the muggle part of the station and instantly Roxanne is there as the steam billows up around them for a moment.

"Don't," he warns quickly. She wraps her arms around his waist anyway, and rests her head on his shoulder for just a second.

"I didn't get pregnant," she tells him proudly, and he can't help the chuckle because in the twenty-two years and the single month since they last saw each other she hasn't changed, not a bit, and it's completely surreal to him.

"Eat more," he orders as the steam begins to seep away again, and presses a desperate kiss to her forehead. "You're too thin."

She cocks her head to the side and takes a step away from him.

"Life sucks," she comments blankly, and he shrugs.

"If it didn't we wouldn't appreciate the good parts as much."

Then he tosses her a chocolate bar from in his jacket pocket, his hair falling into his face, and her fingers are almost reaching up to brush it away when her name is called and she whirls to find Fred beckoning her up to the train whilst shooting an odd glance at Draco.

"Same time next year?" she suggests with a laugh, and he grins as he catches sight of Astoria heading back towards it.

"I'll look forward to it. You'd better have put on some weight. Oh, and I want one more thing explaining – why?"

She blows him a kiss, grinning, uncaring that several of her relatives are hanging out of the train windows and can see everything, and he stands and watches as she clambers up the steps and is immediately besieged by several family members.

"Wasn't that Roxanne Weasley?" Astoria asks in confusion as she hands Draco's coffee over. He smiles absently and nods as he watches her face in the window turns towards his and that smile stretch across her cheeks.

"Yes. It was. I knew her a long time ago."

Astoria shoots him a keen glance but he's just watching her slide away from him for the last time.

He gets an owl several days later and as he pets its feathers absently he unrolls the piece of parchment and can't help the tears that escape as he reads the single line in the achingly familiar curving script.

_For it was not into my ear that you whispered, but into my heart. It was not my lips you kissed, but my soul._

_Always,_

_R._


	9. Tatoo My Skin, My Heart

**Title: Tatoo My Skin, My Heart**

**Author: FollowThisRhythm**

**Third Generation**

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**A/N.** The goal I had for this piece was emotion, I wanted to show emotion. I wanted to feel real, raw emotion as I wrote and I wanted to make readers feel it too no matter how much or how little it was. The first, at least, was accomplished but that may just be because this idea and these characters have been living inside my head so long. The style of the story is purposefully a bit choppy because I am trying to show Rose's thoughts and her emotions and just how unstable and desperate she's feeling. There isn't much else to say– I hope you enjoy and this makes you feel even a little something:)

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing

Rose wasn't sure how long they had actually been patrolling before they had stopped, gazes meeting, words unnecessary to convey what they were feeling, and she had found her back pressed against the corridor wall.

This was familiar.

As his hands ghosted over her face her eyes fluttered to a close and she sighed, the emotion behind it easy to decipher.

_So wrong, so wrong, so_ right_._

Her blood was pounding in her ears and through her veins because of Scorpius and his touch and her thoughts and the risk they were running of being caught.

They didn't have to play with chance, they could have found another place, another time, but it was by Rose's doing that they didn't. Patrol was the only time she lowered her walls, eased her defences. The only time when she would acknowledge their emotions, the fact that they were deeper then they should be, but even then she only allowed herself to brush the top –it was the only thing she could do.

Everything about them was so fragile, so breakable, and she knew if she were to dive too deep, press too hard, the bubble would pop and everything she had been fighting so hard to hold back would come forward.

That couldn't happen.

Her breath shook as it left her parted lips, his fingers gently sketching lines and patterns only he could see down her neck, the heat of his exhalations against her ear and shoulder.

She knew that if anyone were to stumble across them, Merlin forbid, they would be under the impression they were in lust, not love.

His fingers danced over her shoulders, her arms, and she could sense his mouth just above her head, next to her cheek, almost brushing her shoulder.

She understood why even though it wasn't true.

No one else would understand why she kept it the way she did.

No one else would understand that this was the only way things could be and, sometimes, she didn't understand it either.

Why was she fighting so hard what she wanted, needed, loved?

She would think of his smile, his eyes, his heart; his compassion, his pain, his desire to belong, to make something of himself; his ambition, his fears, and all his imperfections that combined to make her epitome of perfection every single time she thought, looked, dreamed of him.

Why couldn't they be accepted? How could people not see who he truly was underneath his skin, behind his name? How could anyone, _anyone with a heart_, see them together– see him, see her, as two people in love with no names and no pasts– and have any ill words against them?

It was always with that thought that she would come out of her land of fantasy and be slapped with the hard facts of reality:

When you were who she was, and when he was who he was, love didn't matter.

She reached up to grip his forearms, not pulling him closer, not pushing him away. He was an anchor, the only thing holding her up and the only thing holding her where she was because if she were to let go she would just sink or float away.

His touch was like a tattoo, winding and curling over her skin, telling stories and drawing pictures of impossibility and eternity and worship and amour.

She knew how he felt, what he wanted, and it killed her not to be able to give it to him.

He trailed invisible lines that couldn't be seen and couldn't be washed off or forgotten, lines that later, as her eyes and heart wept, she would be able to retrace as easily as if they were painted black against the pallor of her skin.

Every caress sank down through her skin, through her bone, and stained her heart, the organ wrapped in the thick cords of agony and need and love.

_Love isn't supposed to cause misery._

Her hands moved on their own accord, hovering over his chest, her right lingering above his heart.

She wished she had the strength to master herself so she could stop making it bleed.

She wished she could just stick with her ideal of all or nothing instead of falling back into this mess again and again.

She wished he would push her away, tell her to stop –damn it all, _why wouldn't he tell her to stop?!_

She didn't want him to hurt, she didn't want to be the reason for his pain, but he just kept coming back, coming back, _coming back_ and she kept pulling him closer and closer because she _couldn't let him go._

She had tried– tried walking away, tried going through with what her head kept screaming at her to do and what every fiber of her being was begging her not to. She had tried letting him go but she had only succeeded in breaking her heart and his. It was unhealthy the way they needed each other and, perhaps, they wouldn't be so close to the edge if they would have just been able to be together.

But they would never know that, only desperation and longing.

She was weak and hungry and lovesick and he was everything, everything, and even though she felt as if she were slowly dying she would never willingly stop.

"Rose . . ."

Her name was a whisper on his lips, the prayer of a despairing man, and it distressed her deeply –even more so when she knew the only thing she would ever be able to do was make it worse.

_Oh please, oh please don't say it, please._

His breath shook and he sounded as if he was trying to control it; she heard him swallow thickly, his lips opening with another laboured exhale. "Rose . . . I love you," he whispered and her eyes spilled, her hands moving to his back, nails running down the fabric that covered his skin. His muscles trembled underneath her touch.

"I know," she murmured back. She had never told him but he knew, she knew he did. He knew it from her tears and her touch and her kisses and her expressions and her tones that she was as desperately in love with him as he was with her– but he also knew she would never say it aloud.

She wouldn't be able to pretend anymore if she did.

"Rose I'll give everything up," he nearly moaned, clutching her to his body, and she was thankful she couldn't see his eyes.

"I know," she repeated hoarsely, only mouthing the words.

It terrified her how sincere his words were.

"We can move, get away from all of this, and it can just be you and me. We don't have to worry about anyone else and what they think and what they believe– I'll do it, I promise."

"Scorpius, _I know_" she sobbed, gripping his shoulders, trying to ignore the way his lips were quivering against her, his face buried in the spot where her neck met her shoulder.

Some women felt powerful when they were the only ones who could bring a man to his knees, some felt special.

She felt like a monster.

He was tilting her face up, leaning in, and his mouth against hers wasn't surprising or unexpected but overwhelming and consuming and everything bright and alive, dark and surrendering.

Their arms were around each other and their lips were locked together and her tears were wetting both of their faces but she didn't care and neither did he because this was _it. _

She would never wake up by his side, she would never exchange _I do's, _she would never see him sitting across from her at the table while she made coffee and he read the newspaper. They would never throw back and forth baby names, beaming as if they had just been given the sun and the moon and the stars; they would never argue about petty little things like his clothes laying on the floor and her books covering every possible surface. As each year passed and her hair faded and her face creased she would be alone and waiting, always waiting, for the salvation that would never come.

All she had was stolen kisses in a corridor and it wasn't enough and it was too much.

_Every day, every day, the same thing._

She didn't know how much more of this torture she could take.

Voices.

They broke apart as if they had been electrocuted, gasping and flushed, with their eyes full to the brims.

She was bare, open, naked when he looked at her the way he was. There were no secrets, no pretenses, no gossamer and mask to hold over the wounds and the truths she didn't want known.

There was no point trying to hide because with him it was impossible–

Besides, he never tried to hide from her.

She wished she wasn't Rose Weasley and he Scorpius Malfoy. She wished someone would take her heart from her chest so she wouldn't have to feel. She wished she didn't have to breathe if she couldn't be with him, if she couldn't be alive. She wished she wasn't a coward, that she wasn't so scared.

But most of all she was just a girl who wished she could be with a boy– a boy who made her heart sing, a boy who made her pulse race, a boy who made her feel such love she thought she would explode. She was just a girl with everything and nothing at the same time. She was just a girl with painted smiles and an endless amount of tears. She was just a girl paving her way to her own ruin.

She was just a girl in love with a boy.

And nobody gave a damn.


End file.
